


Overcast

by cosmiccrumbs



Series: These Chains We Wear [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Belting, Corporal Punishment, Face Slapping, Flashbacks, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Past Child Abuse, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmiccrumbs/pseuds/cosmiccrumbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inevitably, Dean must be punished.  Once, his arms are whipped.  Another time, Castiel uses a belt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel hummed thoughtfully as he chewed on a bite of his omelet, hand gently stroking through Dean’s hair where he kneeled at his feet. “I think you’ve earned a reward Dean,” he said, taking another bite.

“Sir?” Dean questioned, looking up, a forkful of food promptly filling his mouth. Dean savored the warm egg, trying to decide how to flavor the next omelet he prepared and improve upon his recipe. The time he had spent with Castiel was the best Dean had ever ate in his entire life.

“So long as you complete your chores, you may use the television,” Castiel said, placing a strawberry slice in Dean’s mouth.

The combination of sweet fruit and good news had Dean actually smiling. After swallowing he said, “Thank you, sir.”

Castiel stood and made his way to the living room. He put his shoes on, and gathered his coat and things for work. “Goodbye Dean,” Castiel said exiting 

“Goodbye, sir,” Dean said, raising and immediately setting to work on his chores. He cleared the table and begin hand washing the dishes. There were usually so few there was no point in running the dishwasher. As soon as he had cleaned up the breakfast dishes, he did his usual kitchen cleaning routine: wiping the counters, sink, stove and table, sweeping, and putting away the now dry dishes.

As much as he disliked the housework, it could have been worse. It was easier to comply with Castiel’s wishes then refuse him. Life was actually pretty good with Castiel. Dean was fed well, had clothes, was warm, had a nice place to sleep and had yet to be punished. Sometimes even the sexual acts he performed, while not pleasurable per se, could be enjoyable. Castiel was, after all, a decent looking man who knew what he was doing in bed.

As of yet, Dean hadn’t had much time to himself. The house was clean in all the nooks and crannies, just to avoid boredom from Dean’s end, so there really wasn’t much for Dean to clean. By lunchtime, his chores were finished. He had a ham and cheese sandwich with a banana for lunch. After cleaning up from lunch, he stood in the doorway separating the kitchen and living room and looked at the big flat screen television. He could vaguely remember a black and white television from his childhood, but it had many years since he had actually sat down to watch something he had wanted. Previous owners had the television was Dean attended to his chores or sometimes even while they serviced them. 

Gingerly Dean sat on the couch staring at the slightly glint of the black screen. He picked the remote up off the coffee table and pressed the power button. It was a cooking competition show. Dean watched for a few minutes before finding the channel button on the remote. He cooked enough in real life, he didn’t want to people under time constraints attempt making food. His anxiety relaxed a bit on the next channel, but it wasn’t very interesting. He kept flipping and found one of those Harry Potter movie’s on ABC Family. He had heard mentions of the movies and books through his life, but had never read or watched them. Dean had a vague understanding it was about magic and wizards.

He was quickly caught up in the movie, though he tried to keep an eye on the time. He got up for a drink of water a couple of times and used the bathroom on commercial breaks as well. Suddenly, just as the credits started rolling, he heard the door open and he looked up at Castiel standing in the doorway. 

“Hello Dean. How was your day?” Castiel asked, placing his keys in the dish next to the door and slipping his shoes off, as of now oblivious to the sheer panic that Dean felt, his stomach clenching as though he might throw up.

“Um, good sir,” Dean stuttered out, trying to decide if he should immediately confess or let Castiel discover his disobedience for himself. He clicked the television off.

While still trying to come to a decision, Castiel made his way to the kitchen. “Dean,” he said, sternly. He reappeared in the entrance between the rooms. “Where is dinner?”

Dean stood up and rushed to kneel at Castiel’s feet. “I am so sorry, sir. I-I forgot.”

“Hurry up and make something,” Castiel demanded, leaving Dean as he headed to his study.

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself and went into the kitchen. He tried not to panic as he looked around deciding what would be the quickest thing he could make without getting himself in more trouble. There was some ham left over from yesterday in the fridge, and a can of green beans in the pantry. He popped the ham in the oven at a low temperature to reheat and put the can of green beans in a pan on the stove. Dean found a boxed of instant mashed potatoes and mixed up a serving of the potato mix with water.

Even with as quickly as he worked, dinner still wasn’t on the table until 6:35. Dean took another deep breath and quickly made his was to knock on the door to Castiel’s study. “Dinner is ready, sir.” Without waiting for a response, Dean quickly went back to the table and kneeled next to the chair.

Castiel made his way into the kitchen and Dean could feel his aggravation and frustration rolling off of him. Dean kept his eyes down, nervously playing with his fingers in his lap, trying to calm his anxiety and fear about not being punished yet. Not a single morsel of food was passed down to Dean from Castiel. As soon as he finished, Castiel pushed back his chair with a screech and retreated to his study.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief as the tension in the room eased. He stood and began cleaning up the dinner mess. As he washed the dishes, he listened to the study door open and close. He thought Castiel was probably heading to the master bathroom to wash up for the night. Normally he was asked to join, but it seemed his presence wasn’t wanted tonight. Dean heard the shower turn on. When the dishes were finished, Dean awkwardly stood around the kitchen, trying to kill time. Finally, he gave up and made his way to the second bathroom. He messed with his hair, trying to make it look alright. His hair was getting too long, and he wanted it cut. It wouldn’t be cut unless Castiel decided he wanted it cut. He rinsed the stale taste out of his mouth.

The shower went off. “Come here Dean,” Castiel called. It was a tossup in Dean’s mind if he was about to be fucked or punished. Perhaps both. He slipped down the hall to the master bedroom.

“Kneel, Dean,” Castiel commanded, standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the master bedroom. He was wearing plaid sleep pants with no shirt.

Dean’s heart sank to his stomach along with his knees to the floor. After Castiel had said nothing to Dean at dinner, he was hoping his transgression would be forgiven and not mentioned again. He had been with Castiel for just over two weeks now and had avoided an arm whipping, to his surprise. He was sure his luck was about to be over.

“I gave you a privilege today, Dean,” Castiel said, moving in front of Dean who dropped his eyes. “Look at me.” Dean’s eyes shot back up. “You have performed wonderfully up until today. The first day that I decided to give you a reward for all your hard work. I don’t have to allow you free time, and I especially don’t have to allow you to watch television, but I did.” Dean’s eyes fell again, caught in the shame of such a stupid mistake. Castiel grabbed a handful of hair and pulled roughly, forcing Dean’s eyes back up. “And on the very first day of this privilege, you throw it back in my face by disobeying my order to have dinner ready when I come home at 6:00.”

“I’m sorry, Cas, really, I just lost track of time,” Dean said, wincing as Castiel tightened his grip on his hair.

“You are to refer to me as sir,” he bristled at Dean’s presumption to use a nick name. “Losing track of time is not an excuse for neglecting your duties. If I lost track of my time while on lunch break at work, I would disciplined, just as I’m going to discipline you.”

“Your boss wouldn’t hit you! He wouldn’t hur-!” Dean insisted loudly. He hit the ground from the force of Castiel’s slap across his cheek, the rest of his words knocked from his mouth.

“Hold your tongue, slave.” He studied where Dean laid on the floor. “Kneel.”

Dean pushed himself back onto his knees.

“Present your arms.”

With a glare to Castiel, Dean held out his arms. Castiel clutched on wrist firmly, while studying the forearm he had been presented. Scars crisscrossed Dean’s arm from wrist to elbow, some white and obvious while others had dulled and faded. A few were raised, but most were flat. The other arm matched. “It’s hard to tell if you’re so scarred because you’re a horribly behaved slave or due to the misfortune of your previous owner,” Castiel said snidely to Dean. He only returned a hard stare, not wishing to push his luck any further.

“This will be the first time I punish you,” Castiel said thoughtfully, releasing Dean’s wrist and turning to his dresser. “Tell me, slave, what were you last punished for and how?”

“An arm whipping. For poor posture. At the training facility. Sir,” Dean said in a clipped manner. Castiel turned around, brandishing a device Dean had felt many times on his skin. It was black and leather, the handle approximately an inch around and only a little longer than a man’s handgrip. At one end of a thin piece of leather, approximately six inches long and ending in a single knot.

“So lapses in slave etiquette are common for you then?” Castiel paused, clearly waiting for an answer that Dean did not have. “Answer the question, slave.”

“Apparently,” slipped out of Dean’s mouth before he could bite his tongue.

“That mouth of yours sure gets you in trouble,” Castiel taunted, twirling the end of the flogger. Without warning, the flogger landed Dean’s skin with a thwack. The pain was familiar, and Dean latched onto that place in his head where pain became bearable. The barrage continued.

“Sure are quiet now,” Castiel said, pausing in the punishment and examining the red streaks crisscrossing across Dean’s arms. The redness made some of the white scars stand on more than they had before. A particularly hard strike caused Dean to let out a wounded sound, the lack of pattern displacing him from that place in his brain. “I want to make sure this lesson sinks in Dean. I don’t have a taste for punishment, but I will keep you in line.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said between gritted teeth. He winced at another particularly hard strike. The barrage continued, at a higher intensity than before and Dean escaped back to that safe place in his brain, where the pain was distant and almost felt like a heavy blanket, as long as the pattern continued. Dean’s arms were turning into lines of red welts. The pain was familiar in a way; it felt the same as it had in the hands of any of his previous owner’s or the guards at the training facility.

Finally the pain stopped. “I won’t be feeding you for the next week,” Castiel said, returning the flogger to his drawer. When he turned around, Dean’s face looked stricken at the thought of no food. “You will get four biscuits per day,” Castiel said, watching the relieved look show on Dean’s face. Starving slaves wasn’t uncommon, but Castiel had no desire for Dean to use lack of food or nutrition as a reason for shirking on his duties or not performing them as expected. Slave biscuits were packed with calories and nutrients, but tasted like chalk and turned to a thick paste when chewed. “Being fed by me is another privilege Dean, remember that.”

Dean was thankful his arms weren’t bleeding. “Would you like to use my mouth tonight, sir?” Dean offered.

“No. I have things to finish in my office. You are going to bed. There’s Neosporin in the bathroom. Put it on your arms first,” Castiel said before walking to the door. “Dean, you are forgiven.”

Relief flood Dean’s veins at those words. Old lessons came to mind: an owner corrects a slave because they care about them. He was thankful Castiel had decided to correct him rather than get rid of him.

Dean stood and went to the bathroom to do as he was told. The welts stung as he touched them. His arms were still slightly tacking as he pulled his sleeping mat from beneath the bed and crawled under the blanket. Normally, he would tuck an arm under the pillow and roll over on his stomach, but he tried to avoid doing so to keep the Neosporin from getting on his bedding.

He contemplated his punishment. It had been bearable and fair. He had survived. It was practically nothing compared to some of his punishments with Azazel. Dean closed his eyes and tried to focus on going to sleep. He was still frustrated with himself for messing up, but Castiel had forgiven him. He just needed to focus not making the same mistakes, or slaking on his chores again. Castiel really didn’t ask for much – he was a fair owner. Dean drifted off, resolving himself to be an even better slave.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three days since Dean’s punishment. The redness was gone, but the bruises stood out in striking colors of sickening yellows and greens, only sore if Dean jostled his arms or something was pressed against them. In the grand scheme of Dean’s life, the bruises were nothing to deal with, not compared with his past.

He did his best with his chores and to please Castiel who hadn’t taken him to bed since the incident. He ate his biscuits without complaint, not even when his mouth watered as he cooked Castiel’s meals; he never even snuck a small morsel to taste. Such a little time of real food had already made him greedy for it, made it harder to accept his lot in life, but Dean simply tried to take it as an extra part of his punishment.

On the evening of the third day after his punishment, Dean was sitting quietly at Castiel’s feet, having just finished the dishes. From his place on the couch, Castiel was watching television. He gently rested a hand in Dean’s hair making him sit up a little straighter. Castiel hadn’t touched him like this since before his punishment and Dean couldn’t help the little head push into Castiel’s hand. Castiel began running his fingers gently through Dean’s hair, smoothing out the few tangles that he found.

As the television program ended, Castiel made a suggestion: “How about we move this to bedroom?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said eagerly. If he was being taken to bed again, then his transgression really had been forgiven. Castiel’s actions these past few days made is clear than he would not use sex itself as a punishment.

Castiel led him down the short hallway to the master bedroom, holding Dean’s hand. “Get up on the bed and get ready okay? I think I want to try something a little new today,” Castiel said, gently patting Dean’s shoulder. He moved to the top drawer of his dresser and began sifting through things.

Dean stripped his clothes off and folded them in a little pile on a chair in the corner. He got up on the bed and fetched the lube from the side table before laying down on his back, bending his knees up before letting them fall to the sides. Dean liberally coated his first two fingers with the thick, sticky lube before gently rubbing over his hole, instinctually putting a show on like he had been trained to do so many years ago.

Castiel turned around and chuckled a little, holding several silk scarves. “You really are gorgeous Dean,” he said, watching Dean slip a finger in to the last knuckle and slowly pump in and out. A lifetime of practice soon had the muscle relaxed enough that Dean was able to slip another finger in, letting out a soft little moan. The movements were practiced, routine, something he had done numerous times. Dean himself wasn’t really deriving any pleasure from what was happening other than the pleasant hum that Castiel had forgiven him.

As Dean continued prepping himself, Castiel walked over with the scarves. “I was thinking these might be fun to play with,” he said, holding rubbing the soft material across Dean’s cheek.

“That sounds excellent, sir,” Dean said with well-placed breathiness.

Castiel gently placed one of them, folded in half, across Dean’s eyes. He sat up to allow Castiel to tie a knot on the back of his head, securing his blindness. Dean laid back down and continued to work on preparing himself, forcing down the pang of anxiety that came from not being able to see where Castiel was and only being able to rely on hearing him softly shuffle about. He guessed Castiel had moved to the foot of the bed.

“Do you need a little more time, or are you ready?” Castiel asked. Dean imagined he could feel his stare, imagined Castiel studying the stretch of Dean’s hole around his fingers, like he sometimes studied business papers at the kitchen table while Dean cleaned. The first time he had been in a similar position, Dean remembers nearly crying from embarrassment of having another man’s eyes staring at such an intimate place and the pain of being forced to too quickly stretch his hole. None of those emotions were here now.

“I’m ready, sir,” Dean said, with one final thrust of his fingers. He gently removed them and listened to Castiel moving about the room before his fingers were being wiped clean with a tissue. Dean felt silk wrapping around his wrists before Castiel finished with a knot and a soft hum. Dean experimentally tugged a bit as Castiel tsk-ed at him. He could break free if he really wanted to, Dean decided trying to quell some of his uneasiness. Up until this, all of their sex had been pure vanilla and Dean realized how stupid he had been to think it would continue like that as long he was owned by Castiel. If there wasn’t something weird he was into, or something wrong with Castiel, he would have had a free person for a partner and not have bought a sex slave.

Castiel used a third scarf to affix Dean’s tied wrists to the headboard. Dean forced his breath to remain even. Castiel smoothed Dean’s hair and leaned in for a kiss which was hungrily returned. Castiel moved to mouth at Dean’s neck and he clenched his hands at the pleasurable sensation of a wet tongue laving at his pulse point.

Most of the people Dean had been used by had not cared about Dean’s pleasure in and of itself. Usually, Dean’s pleasure was incidental and not intentional. That which was intentional was simply to augment the pleasure of the person using Dean; some people truly got off on causing another person pleasure. It was confusing that Castiel genuinely seemed to want Dean to – usually – get off on what they were doing together with several of their liaisons together ending after Dean had finished, but Castiel had not. To Castiel, each moment of pure pleasure he caused Dean was a point on his side of the scoreboard.

“Do you know why I bought you Dean?” Castiel whispered into Dean’s ear while his hand snaked down the other man’s body to wrap around his dick. “Do you want to know?”

“Why did you buy me, sir?” Dean asked, trying to relax into the sensations occurring on his cock even as the dark caused by the blindfold was building his anxiety.

“Your previous owner broke multiple laws. One of them was using you – a sex slave – for torture. You hadn’t even been sold as a hardcore BDSM sex slave.” Castiel paused in his story, intensifying the lazy strokes he had been giving Dean until he let out a soft moan. Dean could feel Castiel’s erect cock against his thigh. “Someone has to put your pieces back together. Putting broken slaves back together is what I do.”

Dean was unable to properly chew over what he was being told. “I’m not broken,” he finally insisted, gently pulling on his bonds, wanting to stop Castiel’s ministrations on him and just get to the fucking part. He wanted Castiel to fuck him hard enough that they both forgot the idea that Dean might be broken.

Castiel laughed. “After what you’ve been through, everyone would be concerned if you weren’t. If you weren’t so clearly in a thousand pieces, you probably would have been made a torture slave, so be thankful.” Slaves used for torture usually led short, painful lives and died in misery. Most torture slaves had been murderers or worse when they had been free people.

“No, stop, I’m not broken,” Dean insisted rolling his hips away and escaping Castiel’s hands.

“Broken,” Castiel insisted pushing the issue. “I watch you daze into space, the way you flinch, the way you’re pulling on your bonds right now. You put a good act on in the beginning of sex, but you’re always gone by midway through.” Castiel did not stop in his tirade, even as Dean clearly grew more and more distressed. He listed all of Dean’s faults as a sex slave.

Castiel climbed atop of Dean and straddled him around the waist, leaning down and grabbing his throat. Dean finally pulled his wrists free, ripping the scarfs away, freeing his eyes before attacking Castiel’s hand which was still gripped around his throat. Castiel pressed harder for a moment and then let go.

Dean lay there breathing heavily, having immediately gone limp when his throat was freed, eyes refocusing and meeting Castiel’s. “Are you going to fuck me now? I’m not broken. I’m still good for that. I can still do it. I promise, I’m not too loose or anything,” Dean rambled off desperately. “I’m good at sex. I can be better. I’m not broken. I’m a good fuck hole.”

“You honestly think I’m going to fuck you after what you just did?” Castiel seethed. “This is how you are broken Dean. You refuse to be compliant. You refuse to listen. I tied you to the bed and you chose to undo those bonds without permission. I did not ask you to fight me, and yet you were. I am going to punish you. I will teach you how to be a good slave again.” Castiel climbed off of Dean and stood, walking to his dresser where he kept the flogger.

“No, please,” Dean begged, also standing as panic began to resurge. “I can be good. I can. Please, my arms are still bruised.” A flogging over bruises was one of Dean’s least favorite pain sensations.

That gave Castiel pause. He didn’t think he could bring himself to whip Dean’s arms over the bruises. “Alright, then I’m going to spank you with my belt. And you need to start referring to me properly, Dean,” Castiel said, turning around and crossing his arms.

“Sir, please, let me give you a blow job and then you can fuck me,” Dean said, taking a step closer to Castiel. “That could be my punishment instead.”

“Using you for what I bought you for is not a punishment. Quit arguing and bend over the fucking bed Dean,” Castiel growled.

“Please, sir, please, just whip my arms again, please not this,” Dean begged desperately.

“I am your owner. It is not your place to ask for what type of punishment you are to receive. I decide, and you take it without complaint, do you understand?” Castiel said shoving Dean face down over the edge of the bed.

“Y-yes sir,” Dean said, clutching tightly at the fabric of the bed spread, trying to brace himself for what was about to come. Internally, he was chastising himself for being so stupid as to disobey and disrespect Castiel as he had. He knew better. His job was obedience, to direct and indirect orders, and he had failed at both.

He heard the jingle of a belt buckle as Castiel unfastened his belt. “I’m not going to use the buckle on you Dean,” Castiel said, almost soothingly, placing a hand on the small of Dean’s back. “Do you need your hands restrained?”

“No, sir,” Dean choked out. He would behave himself and take the punishment he earned. There would be another time when she showed that he could remain in bonds when told to do so. Castiel gave a light pat to Dean before removing his hand and positioning himself to begin the punishment.

The first stroke was louder than Dean anticipated and he shuffled on his feet. The pain was familiar, almost like an old friend. While Alastair had never been fond of the belt, another man in Dean’s life had been.

The second stroke landed just below the second one and Dean forced himself to breathe through the pain, experience telling him it would be easier to handle that way. With the third stroke layering over the second, Dean suddenly gripped a memory.

_“Bend over Dean,” a gruff voice said. Trying to put on a brave face, he complied. “Grab his hands Sammy.”_

_Sammy stood across the bed from Dean, bending over to tightly hold Dean’s hands. Little Sammy stared hard at Dean, holding eye contact in an attempt to give his older brother strength as they heard the sound of their father’s belt being pulled from the loops of his jeans._

_The first stroke landed in the middle of his pajama clad bottom and Dean couldn’t hold back a wince, no matter how strong he was trying to be. “Crying on the first stroke?” John taunted, almost chuckling darkly. “Man up Dean. The people we are saving have endured much worse.”_

On the fourth stroke, Castiel heard Dean make a pained sound which surprised him. He had been expecting Dean to remain stoic for much longer, considering what he had been through and the type of person Dean was. He continued with the amount of strokes he had determined before the punishment began.

_Dean clutched the bed covers harder and gritted his teeth for the second stroke. John lightly tapped Dean’s bottom with the belt a couple of times; Dean knew they didn’t count as strokes. The next one hit by surprise and Dean couldn’t hold back the high pitched whine that escaped his throat. “Are you going to be such a baby when it’s your turn Sammy?”_

Castiel paused and listened to Dean’s whine, concerned. He had not been expecting such an effect from punishing Dean with the belt. He paused for a moment and gently rubbed Dean’s lower back until he seemed well enough for the punishment to continue.

_“N-no, Daddy,” Sam promised even as tears began welling in his eyes at how cruel John was being._

_Another stroke and Dean could feel the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. He fought the urge to hide his face in his arms. The fifth stroke landed on the sensitive under curve, where Dean would feel it when he sat._

_“Alright, pants down,” John said. Sam let Dean’s hands go as Dean quickly pushed his pajama bottoms and underwear to his knees before getting back into position. Sam clasped his hands, little finger nails biting into Dean’s skin; he idly thought about how he would need to clip Sam’s finger nails before bed._

_With his pants lowered, the heat in Dean’s bottom became more pronounced where cool air touched the skin. The next stroke landed over the last one and without his clothes to cushion the blow, tears spilled from Dean’s eyes with a grunt._

Castiel moved to the side and glanced at Dean’s face, wet with the tears. Maybe spanking Dean instead of whipping his arms would be more effective in correcting disobedience. But then, Castiel was trying to remodel Dean into being a model slave and arm whipping was the standard punishment.

_Stroke seven had Dean biting his lip as hard as he could to prevent any sound coming out of his throat. It ached with the effort of choking back tears. Number eight landed across his thighs and with that Dean was properly sobbing._

“Dean, Dean,” Castiel said urgently, shaking his shoulder. Dean had begun crying hard a full thirty seconds after Castiel had finished the punishment. Dean’s eyes were glazed, not focusing on Castiel or anything in particular. “Come back to me, come on Dean…”

_The last two strokes landed and John made a disgusted sound. “Do you even deserve to be free Dean? Can’t even take a simple punishment, that you earned, like a man,” John seethed, picking up a bottle from the table beside the bed and taking a swig. “Switch places. Sam’s turn.”_

Dean opened his eyes, noticing how wet his cheeks were and how his fingers ached from so tightly clenching the sheets.. He forced himself to loosen his fingers as he noticed the searing pain of his ass. “Sir?”

“You spaced out on me Dean. I think you might have been caught in a flashback,” Castiel said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Dean. “You can stand up if you like.”

As he stood, Dean said, “I’m really sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel said, fiddling with hands, realizing Dean should not be belted for a long time, if ever again. The belt jingled and Castiel watched Dean’s eyes track its movements. “What memory were you reliving?”

“It’s from when I was a child, sir,” Dean said, warily staring at the belt, fearing he would be feeling its wrath again tonight.

“More specific.”

“My d-dad was punishing me and my brother. I guess you using the belt caused me to remember, sir,” Dean said, rubbing at his eyes that itched from his tears.

“Do you remember what you were being punished for?” Castiel inquired curiously.

Dean squinted his eyes, trying to peer back over the years to a time long ago. “I think it had something to do with not tidying the motel room up… That was his reason anyway. I think it might have just been angry that his rescue mission had failed, sir,” Dean said hesitantly. They were starting to move into territory that he did not want to share. He had so little personal thoughts and memories that belonged solely to him that even these bad memories he wanted to lock away for himself.

“Rescue mission? What was it your father did?” Castiel was thinking fire rescue or police. Maybe military.

“He was an-an abolitionist, sir,” Dean said dutifully, moving his hands to rest at the small of his back, eyes on the floor, assuming a posture that had been drilled into him over a decade ago in an attempt to demonstrate that he did not share his father’s proclivities.

“Ah,” Castiel said, just a small, contemplative sound. “So you were a free person once. And now you’re here.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said neutrally.

“But that doesn’t really explain how you became a slave. My best guess is that your father was eventually caught, and of course enslaved. That leaves you and your brother. I’m guessing no one wanted either of you–” Castiel’s casual cruelness was cut off by a telephone ringing. “We’ll finish this when I get off the phone. Go in the bathroom and get ready for bed.”

As Castiel left the bedroom to find his ringing cellphone, Dean moved into the master bedroom. He stared at his red ass in the mirror, gently touching the welts before sighing and fetching his toothbrush from where it was next to Castiel’s in the holder.

As he brushed, he considered the things Castiel had told him before his punishment. He thought over each accusation and came to the decision that they were all true. He aggressively rubbed at his eyes to prevent anymore tears slip out. He finished with his teeth and washed his face. He used the toilet, wiping away the lube from between his cheeks, knowing he wasn’t going to be fucked tonight. He went back to the bedroom and put on underwear and sleep pants. He shuffled his feet before deciding to sit on the edge of the bed.

Castiel came to the doorway, phone pressed to his ear and said to Dean, “Go to bed, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Dean nodded, thankful, as Castiel disappeared from the doorway. He pulled his sleeping mat out from under the bed and crawled in, clutching the blanket to his chest for comfort. He turned over the memory he had relived while being spanked and was suddenly struck with how much he missed his younger brother. He wondered where Sam was, if he was faring any better than Dean. He didn’t even know what type of slave Sam was. He pulled his knees towards his chest and forced himself to remember the happy times with Sam. Dean fell asleep to the memory of pushing Sam on a swing at a dilapidated playground.


End file.
